


The Good Heart

by Winifred_Zachery



Series: Winnie's Tony Stark Bingo 2018 fills [1]
Category: Captain America (Movies), Iron Man (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Angst, Bucky Barnes Needs a Hug, Dubious Consent, For the sake of a mission, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Oral Sex, Prostitution, Rape/Non-con Elements, Sex Worker, The Asset Is Human, The Asset Needs A Hug, Tony Stark Has A Heart
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-13
Updated: 2018-06-13
Packaged: 2019-05-21 21:08:15
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,155
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14922863
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Winifred_Zachery/pseuds/Winifred_Zachery
Summary: The mission parameters are simple. He has done the same dozens of times. Go and seduce the mark, then eliminate. But in the end, it is not as easy as that. Nothing ever is with Tony Stark.





	The Good Heart

**Author's Note:**

> My Tony Stark Bingo 2018 fill (first one ever, yay!), square S5: sexworker
> 
> Thanks to my enormously talented beta roe-sesandthorns!

The Asset lets his gaze wander across the intimate banquet room he’s just entered. Everything about this event is sparkly and elegant. The lights are low, subjects are walking around in their best evening wear, the men in tuxes, the women in colorful dresses with eye-catching jewellery. Talking and laughing. Nearly everybody is holding cut-glass flutes filled with bubbling champagne, replaced every so often by waitstaff discreetly weaving in and out of the crowds.

 

All in all he estimates there being around a hundred subjects in attendance, just enough of a distraction for his mission.

 

The Asset tugs at the cuffs of his gear checking their fit. Calling this get-up ‘gear’ is a little inaccurate. He is wearing a tuxedo, perfectly tailored for his body, black, starched white shirt, white gloves, no tie, top button open. He blends in perfectly except for that last small detail setting him apart.

 

There are others like him here, men wearing a tux with no tie, women with one bare shoulder. They are short-term employees hired by the host of the fundraiser, Justin Hammer, to show his guests a good time.

 

That is not the only thing setting him apart, however, though the rest of those features are carefully hidden beneath his clothes. There are knives strapped to his thighs. There is a gun tucked into the back of his pants and an ampulla of strychnine is hidden under his tongue.

 

He is here on a mission.

 

The set-up is ideal. The Handler had assured his superiors of this in a conversation the Asset had been present for.

 

Hammer is known for this special brand of entertainment which he provides at the parties he throws for the country’s high society on a regular basis. He always hires escorts and sex workers, puts them in suits and dresses and sends them to work the room and give his guests the time of day. Rumor has it that Hammer has connections to the most prestigious whore houses in the city.

 

It was not hard for the Asset to be picked as an attendant, no, it had been almost laughably easy. He is “pretty enough” - their words - and well prepared. Place him at a street corner in the right kind of clothes and Hammer’s goons pick him up in a matter of minutes.

 

He has done this kind of mission before, lured his mark with coy looks and a sway of his hips, let them undress him, put their hands on him, let them fuck him. He is good at it. He has been trained well. He detests it as much as he is still able to. But saying no is not an option.

 

At the end of the night, his marks always end up dead, killed by a random prostitute. His handler is always greatly amused at what a fantastic whore the Asset is.

 

A commotion at the grand entrance draws the Asset’s attention. Camera lights are flashing outside, people are shouting over each other, vying for one man’s attention.

 

The Asset does not miss how the face of this evening’s host turns into a grimace before settling into his usual fake smile as he goes to greet his last guest: Tony Stark.

 

The Asset’s mark has arrived.

 

The mark is wearing a charcoal tuxedo combined with a silver tie and pocket square, immediately setting himself apart and above all other subjects in the room. Sunglasses are hiding his eyes and a smile is firmly in place. He is shaking hands with fans and reporters positioned  on either side of the red carpet, instead of paying attention to Hammer who is waiting for Stark to greet him. This is surely not the way the host of the evening wants to be seen, upstaged at his own gala but a society event without Tony Stark is not a society event at all, apparently.

 

The mark does not seem to notice. He enjoys the attention, pausing for a photo here and a handshake there, all the while grinning and waving. The mark is flashy, is the center of everybody’s attention as he bathes in the crowds.

 

The mark is known to take escorts home from such Hammer events, otherwise the Asset would never get a chance to get the man alone and make it look like a common whore is responsible for the murder of the world’s favorite playboy.

 

Now, all the Asset has to do is catch his attention.

 

Which, in the end, is easier said than done because before he manages to catch the mark’s attention, the Asset catches the attention of another guest, and a very persistent one at that.

 

Apparently, his cover works a little too well. The guy, mid-fifties, graying hair, 230 pounds, has set his sights on the Asset and will not be deterred. His attempts at flirtatious banter are laughable, his words clumsy, his touches even more so.

 

And there is nothing at all the Asset can do except accompany the man out back like he suggests. He has been warned time and again not to blow his carefully crafted cover and a whore unwilling to service a client would be way too telling.

 

Which is why he ends up on his knees in one of the service corridors behind the ballroom with his lips wrapped around a disgusting dick, pudgy fingers wrapped in his hair trying to choke him.

 

He detests this part of the job. Luckily, none of his handlers are there to see him hesitate at the beginning and nearly retch in the end because that would mean punishment and reconditioning.

 

Once the guy has spilled his disgusting load into his mouth, he zips up and disappears, giving the Asset a moment unobserved to throw up all over the floor and escape to a restroom to set himself back to rights.

 

He hopes the mark smells better than that guy. The thought brings him up short. 

The Asset has no need for useless things like hope.

 

Once he returns to the ballroom, he sets his eyes on the mark again. It is a bit difficult to follow the mark with his eyes because all of a sudden the lights are glaring and distracting, there are flashes everywhere from cameras, from ladies’ jewellery, from clinking glasses. It leaves the Asset dangerously disoriented for a few seconds.

 

The mark is surrounded by a number of men and women, raptly listening to a story he is telling, all grad gestures and blinding smiles. The sunglasses the mark is wearing seem like a good idea suddenly.

 

Once he finishes his story, the mark moves on to another group of people, several women among them, which he charms with his trademark grin, glass of champagne firmly in hand. Then he moves again, ever the well-practiced socialite, but - and the Asset observes this with a certain sense of amusement - skilfully avoiding Hammer trying to close in on him.

 

It will not be easy getting close to the mark without drawing attention to himself, which he is trying to avoid. His best chance is probably to ambush Stark on his way to the restrooms and try to seduce the man away from his crowd of admirers and sycophants.

 

But the mark never separates from the crowd and the Asset cannot find an opening.

 

He does not relish the thought of failing his mission by having to shoot the mark in plain sight or not eliminating him at all.

 

So he remains close to the exit, leaning against the wall, and is contemplating which his handlers would consider to be the worse of the two outcomes when the situation seems to resolve itself.

 

One moment the mark is the focus of a crowd of people and the next he is standing right beside the Asset, no one else in sight.

 

The Asset is impressed but does not let on. He is trained too well to show surprise.

 

The mark lowers his glasses and lets his gaze wander up and down the Asset’s body in a manner suggestive of his intent.

 

“Aren’t you a sight for sore eyes,” the man starts. “Looks like Hammer has some measure of taste after all.”

 

The Asset turns his body towards the mark, flesh hand coming to run along his open collar. The gloved hand stays at the small of his back. His eyes wander over the mark’s body in turn, suggesting interest in turn, just like he was trained to do.

 

The mark is smaller than the Asset assumed from watching him from afar. He is not going to have a problem overpowering him in the end.

 

“You looking for some company?” he asks with a smile that feels unnatural. If it  _ looks _ unnatural, his mark does not let on that he has noticed anything amiss.

 

“You offering, handsome?”

 

The Asset nods, widening his grin a little. This is what he is here for, after all. “Where to?”

 

The mark bites his lip as if considering. “I’d take you with me,” he suggest carefully. “Not really into that whole hiding-in-a-broom-closet thing Hammer has got going here. I promise to make it worth your while.” 

The last words are accompanied by the universal gesture suggesting the exchange of money.

 

The Asset nods. He is aware that workers will be paid by Hammer after the event is over and going with Stark would mean missing out on payment. 

But that is not the reason he is here for, so this is more than fine with him.

 

“Alright then, limo’s waiting.”

 

The mark turns around, no qualms about turning his back to strangers. He  either has the self-preservation instinct of a lemming or a very good bodyguard. For the sake of the mission the first one would be preferable.

 

The mark doesn’t wait for him to follow, just assumes that he will. Of course, he will. He promised money to what he believes to be a prostitute.

 

A limo is drawing up just as Stark takes the last steps towards the curb out back. No red carpet for this part of the evening.

 

The Asset is not looking forward to what comes next. He has done this plenty of times to know the drill. The mark will put his hands all over the Asset’s body as if he owns it. He is paying for it after all and the way Tony Stark owns a room is surely indicative of the way he would own a person.

 

He is looking forward to the what follows even less - the part that starts with the mark putting his dick in the Asset and ends with the Asset putting a bullet in the mark. Unfortunately, he cannot really skip the first part, otherwise the investigating officers will not believe the murderer to have been a prostitute.

 

But once he climbs into the limo, he is surprised as Stark motions him to sit i across from him rather than next to him. The distance between them is not conducive to extensive touching.

 

“The usual, Happy,” the mark instructs the driver through the intercom and the car starts down the street.

 

The drive only lasts a few minutes, a lot shorter than it should have been by the Asset’s calculations, which means they are not at  Stark Tower. What he sees when they do get out, though, surprises him. The limo hasn’t stopped at some random hotel but is parked at the back of a small 40s style diner. He does not need to hide his confusion when he turns around to Stark, now climbing out of the limo.

 

“You’re probably wondering why we’re here. Don’t worry, you’ll get your money,” Stark reassures quickly. “In fact, here, you can have it right now.”

 

And he indeed reaches for the inside pocket of his tux to hand the Asset a white envelope, which, from the way it feels, probably contains more than just a couple hundred dollars.

 

“See, I don’t usually do sex workers. Pun intended.,” the mark starts explaining when the Asset makes no move to reach out for the envelope. “I don’t enjoy it but Hammer keeps insisting on these stupid pretentious charity dinners where they serve more champagne than actual food. What I do enjoy, however, is a good cheeseburger. And the ones they serve here are meaty, cheesy pieces of heaven in a bun.”

 

At first the Asset is not quite sure how to react. The intel they have been given is erroneous and has just ruined his whole mission. Behind his frown of confusion the Asset curses whoever put together the research for letting themselves be misguided by Tony Stark’s reputation. He is sure there will be some Hydra heads rolling in the future. 

Right now he needs to play along, though, and not blow his cover.

 

Stark is still standing in front of him, gesturing toward the diner. “Want one? I mean, you could technically just leave but I’d welcome the company. They know me here, so nobody’s gonna say anything.”

 

The Asset nodds mutely. This is not good. If he cannot manage to seduce his mark he will have to shoot him in plain sight and he has no desire to do so.

 

Stark does not even notice his struggle - as well he shouldn’t - and heads for the restaurant, again assuming he will follow.

 

And what other choice does he have? He could shoot him right here, there would be no witnesses, as the driver has already left in search of a space to park the limousine. For some reason, he does not.

 

Instead he follows Stark inside.

He watches Stark greet the waitress with a smile and a wave as he makes his way towards the corner booth.

 

“Your usual, Mr. Stark?” the blonde waitress asks and is already hurrying over with an empty mug and a pot of coffee. “Here’s a menu for your date.”

 

When she passes the Asset she smiles at him, a genuine gesture from what he can tell. He does not answer but slides into the booth across from Stark, making sure to stay at the very edge of the seat.

 

“You hungry? The burgers are great, cheeseburger in particular, but you can order whatever you want, I’m not gonna argue about the prices,” Stark jokes and pushes the menu in his direction.

 

The Asset just nods. The plastic is sticky under his fingers. He has no idea how to behave. He has not been trained for this. He has been trained for combat, for assassination, for strategizing and for seducing his way into his marks’ beds with a few well-chosen words and a cant of his hips. He does not know what to do beyond that.

 

“The apple dumplings are really great, too, if you’ve got a bit of a sweet tooth. You can have a cheeseburger first and then the apple dumplings. Oh, and don’t forget the ice cream!”

 

This Stark is not the same person that the Asset had seen in the ballroom schmoozing with the rich and famous or giving autographs to his fans.

 

This Stark orders a cheeseburger for himself and a cheeseburger with fries and an apple dumpling with vanilla ice cream and an old-fashioned root beer float for a common whore. And the Asset has a feeling that this is not the first time he has done so.

 

This version of Stark isn’t dangerous for Hydra’s plans. This isn’t why the Asset’s owners want him dead. But this is just one of the many layers of Anthony Edward Stark.

 

His target is a good man.

 

The waitress brings their food and Stark falls upon his meal like a starved wolf. “This is so good,” he announces through his mouthful of food. “I should come here all the time. And not just to treat myself after one of those Hammer torture fests.”

 

In contrast, the Asset eats his food slowly. 

It is rare that he gets anything other than nutritious shakes, protein bars, and the daily supplement injection. Stark is right, though, the food is good and he eats it all, but he does not speak. He does not know what to say.

 

Stark does not seem to mind. He just goes on about the food and the coffee and the weather and whether he likes root beer or prefers coke?

 

The soda tingles on his lips and in his mouth and suddenly there’s a memory where there was none before.

 

_ It’s hot and dusty and somebody’s given him a few pennies, maybe it was Mrs. Rosen for always carrying her groceries for her, but that’s just decent behaviour, the way his Ma taught him. But Ma isn’t there and she wouldn’t approve of him taking the money anyway, but she insisted and Steve has been dreaming about root beer for weeks now. The heat isn’t kind to his friend but the inside of the soda fountain is nice and cool and Bucky can afford to buy a root beer and they share it sitting at the bar, drinking very slowly so they can enjoy the relief from the heat foras long as possible before they have to leave again. _

 

With a jerk of his head the Asset falls back into the present, the straw from the float clutched in his gloved hand.

 

“Hey, you alright?” Stark asks, concern written all across his impressive face.

 

The Asset nods. “It reminds me of my childhood.” And he is astonished that this is not a lie.

 

Stark smiles at him, then, and starts talking about going home for the night, no need to go back to the streets - or wherever his place of employment is - because the money will surely be enough to satisfy whoever he is supposed to hand it off to and in that moment the Asset makes the decision to deliberately fail this mission.

 

He will not assassinate Tony Stark.

 

As soon as he is done he thanks Stark for the meal and for the money and as he gets up from his seat he places the envelope on the table and one of his knives on top of it.

 

Stark freezes once he sees the knife but the Asset stares straight ahead towards the exit and says, “You need to take better care of yourself, Mr. Stark,” and then walks out the door.

 

He has failed his mission. 

He has let the target slip through his fingers and he has let him see who he really is. He has saved Tony Stark’s life, a man better than most men he knows, the man who treated someone he believed to be a whore like a normal person. He has given the Asset a memory back, of root beer and of his friend.

 

And the Asset will be punished for that.

 

He won’t remember the memory for long.

 

But maybe someday somebody will give him back a memory, a memory of apple dumplings and Tony Stark.

  
  


**Author's Note:**

> I have a [tumblr](http://harvestingstorm.tumblr.com/) !


End file.
